Jeffrey Archer - As the Crow Flies

Because of all the unhappiness we subsequently experienced with the death of my mother and with the life of Mrs. Trentham while Daniel was away in America, I decided my best chance of ever being frank with my son had been squandered. I begged Charlie to allow the matter to drop once and for all. I have a fine husband. He told me I was wrong; that Daniel was mature enough to handle the truth, but he accepted that it had to be my decision. He never once referred to the matter again.

When Daniel returned from America I traveled back down to Southampton to pick him up. I don't know what it was about him but he seemed to have changed. For a start he looked different—more at ease—and the moment he saw me gave me a big hug, which quite took me by surprise. On the way back to London he discussed his visit to the States, which he had obviously enjoyed, and without going into great detail I brought him up to date on what was happening to our planning application for Chelsea Terrace. He didn't seem all that interested in my news, but to be fair Charlie never involved Daniel in the day-to-day working of Trumper's once we both realized he was destined for an academic career.

Daniel spent the next two weeks with us before returning to Cambridge, and even Charlie, not always the most observant of people, commented on how much he had changed. He was just as serious and quiet, even as secretive, but he was so much warmer towards us both that I began to wonder if he had met a girl while he had been away. I hoped so, but despite the odd hint clumsily dropped, Daniel made no mention of anyone in particular. I rather liked the idea of him marrying an American. He had rarely brought girls home in the past and always seemed so shy when we introduced him to the daughters of any of our friends. In fact he was never to be found if Clarissa Wiltshire put in an appearance which was quite often nowadays, as during their vacations from Bristol University both the twins were to be found working behind the counter at Number 1.

It must have been about a month after Daniel returned from America that Charlie told me Mrs. Trentham had withdrawn all her objections to our proposed scheme for joining the two tower blocks together. I leaped with joy. When he added that she was not going ahead with her own plans to rebuild the flats I refused to believe him and immediately assumed that there had to be some catch. Even Charlie admitted, "I've no idea what she's up to this time." Certainly neither of us accepted Daphne's theory that she might be mellowing in her old age.

Two weeks later the LCC confirmed that all objections to our scheme had been withdrawn and we could begin on our building program. That was the signal Charlie had been waiting for to inform the outside world that we intended to go public.

Charlie called a board meeting so that all the necessary resolutions could be passed.

Mr. Merrick, whom Charlie had never forgiven for causing him to sell the van Gogh, advised us to appoint Robert Fleming to be our merchant bankers in the run-up to the flotation. The banker also added that he hoped the newly formed company would continue to use Child and Company as their clearing bank. Charlie would have liked to have told him to get lost but knew only too well that if he changed banks a few weeks before going public, eyebrows would be raised in the City. The board accepted both pieces of advice, and Tim Newman of Robert Fleming's was duly invited to join the board. Tim brought a breath of fresh air to the company, representing a new breed of bankers. However, although I, like Charlie, immediately took to Mr. Newman I never really got on the same wave-length as Paul Merrick.

As the day for issuing the tender documents drew nearer, Charlie spent more and more of his time with the merchant banker. Meanwhile Tom Arnold took overall control of the running of the shops, as well as overseeing the building program with the exception of Number 1, which still remained my domain.

I had decided several months before the final announcement that I wanted to mount a major sale at the auction house just before Charlie's declaration of going public, and I was confident that the Italian collection to which I had been devoting a great deal of my time would prove to be the ideal opportunity to place Number 1 Chelsea Terrace on the map.

It had taken my chief researcher Francis Lawson nearly two years to gather some fifty-nine canvases together, all painted between 1519 and 1768. Our biggest coup was a Canaletto— The Basilica of St. Mark's —a painting that had been left to Daphne by an old aunt of hers from Cumberland. "It isn't," she characteristically told us, "as good as the two Percy already has in Lanarkshire. However, I still expect the painting to fetch a fair price, my darling. Failure will only result in offering any future custom to Sotheby's," she added with a smile.

We placed a reserve on the painting of thirty thousand pounds. I had suggested to Daphne that this was a sensible figure, remembering that the record for a Canaletto was thirty-eight thousand pounds, bid at Christie's the previous year.

While I was in the final throes of preparation for the sale Charlie and Tim Newman spent most of their time visiting institutions, banks, finance companies and major investors, to brief them on why they should take a stake in the "biggest barrow in the world."

Tim was optimistic about the outcome and felt that when the stock applications came to be counted we would be heavily oversubscribed. Even so, he thought that he and Charlie should travel to New York and drum up some interest among American investors. Charlie timed his trip to the States so that he would be back in London a couple of days before my auction was to take place and a clear three weeks before our tender document was to be offered to the public.

It was a cold Monday morning in May, and I may not have been at my brightest but I could have sworn I recognized the customer who was in deep conversation with one of our new counter assistants. It worried me that I couldn't quite place the middle-aged lady who was wearing a coat that would have been fashionable in the thirties and looked as if she had fallen on hard times and might be having to sell off one of the family heirlooms.

Once she had left the building I walked over to the desk and asked Cathy, our most recent recruit, who she was.

"A Mrs. Bennett," said the young girl behind the counter. The name meant nothing to me so I asked what she had wanted.

Cathy handed me a small oil painting of the Virgin Mary and Child. "The lady asked if this could still be considered for the Italian sale. She knew nothing of its provenance, and looking at her I have to say I wondered if it might have been stolen. I was about to have a word with Mr. Lawson."

I stared at the little oil and immediately realized it had been Charlie's youngest sister who had brought the painting in.

"Leave this one to me."

"Certainly, Lady Trumper."

I took the lift to the top floor and walked straight past Jessica Allen and on into Charlie's office. I handed over the picture for him to study and quickly explained how it had come into our possession.

He pushed the paperwork on his desk to one side and stared at the painting for some time without saying a word.

"Well, one thing's for certain," Charlie eventually offered, "Kitty is never going to tell us how or where she got hold of it, otherwise she would have come to me direct."

"So what shall we do?"

"Put it in the sale as she instructed, because you can be sure that no one is going to bid more for the picture than I will."

"But if all she's after is some cash, why not make her a fair offer for the picture?"

"If all Kitty is after was some cash, she would be standing in this office now. No, she would like nothing better than to see me crawling to her for a change."